User blog comment:Biggren/The Mice of Wintor/@comment-3135907-20130128223330/@comment-3135907-20160325182111

The hefty gauntleted paw struck him in a blur, splitting the vole's cheek and knocking him bodily backward into the muck. He saw black for a moment, then the fog began to clear, and Coddnose was standing over him, a sadistic smile in his eyes and battered longsword in his paw. "E killed Farry. Bound to 'ave a fortune on 'im right now..."

Boggear started in brief shock. "I...thought we was goin' to th' King."

"Yew woulda gone wid 'im to th' King, shore...yew woulda gone wid 'im t' pick daisies an' give yer gooddays t' Missus Vole, tew...huh, weasels," the stoat muttered, then added in a bold pitch to the rest of the vermin in general, "No, mates, this...this's our ticket outta 'ere. I've werked like a gormed slave at this rotten fort fer a crust o' bread in me belly fer too long, never knowin' if today's th' day I meet th' Devil!"

The stoats seemed to agree wholeheartedly. "Aye...this's our best chance, mates. Codd's right!"

The one ferret in the group stood behind slightly, though his spear remained fixated on Trokkin. At first he might have been thought a simple follower, a silent fool, or both; but his quick clever eyes, flitting wickedly from Boggear to Trokkin to Coddnose and back again, said something else entirely.